


Compassion

by emocsibe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, Imshael is only mentioned, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7105954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocsibe/pseuds/emocsibe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It knew now how the chevalier begged to all the gods who might be willing to listen to bring his lover back. No one ever answered. "</p><p>Michel grieves and gets an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compassion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SheenaWilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheenaWilde/gifts).



> This was inspired by a friend's work; [The Forbidden One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6364816) by SheenaWilde.  
> If you like this lovely ship, I highly recommend it to you.

Sometimes it listened to the human world, but more often than not it ignored the feelings coming from there. It was old, very old; it started to have emotions of its own – being tired of the stupidity of humans, being sad that it could not help them, being angry that they did not learn from their mistakes. Oh, but sometimes a calling of pure need, sheer desperation, a last pained cry of a wounded soul seeped through the Veil and it felt compelled to go, to soothe the pain, however, it did not. It had learned a lesson a long time ago, that humans are too stubborn and they cause their own suffering; might it do anything to help, they would be looking for more pain, more tears and wounds. It was just the nature of those creatures, it guessed, and went on with its usual stroll through the Fade.

One day a calling stronger than any ever before came to it, and it was so full of misery and pain, longing and hatred that the spirit hovered over the human world and looked down, eyes fixed on a man not older than thirty-five springs. He had hair like the field during summer, so sunny, so golden, and eyes of a hollow, broken man; a shattered mirror. He sat on his bed, hands twitching; his blade laid beside him on the covers, shiny and true – the one and only friend of a chevalier. He balled his fists, and then opened them, as if watching some colourless material flow from his grasp, following its trail with a heavy and burdened glance. Maybe in some ways he was – he mourned a loss greater than any words could tell, the spirit felt, and was drawn so strongly to the man, that it almost let go of itself to go to his world and comfort him. But it promised itself to remain, to never try to help again, so it backed off, trying to will its natural response to help to go away. And then, then the tears began to fall, and then his hands arose to stroke his own cheeks, to touch his own lips, remembering someone who had done so in the past and was missed in the present, and would be searched for in the future. It saw a young man in the memories of the chevalier; brown hair, slightly curly around the ends, warm moss-green eyes more beautiful than any greenery in the landscape of the Emerald Graves. He smiled at the blonde man, then kissed him, all teeth and danger, and he was drawn to this creature, he chose to be drawn to him. And now, he missed him, deeply and terribly; missed having his lover around. It knew now how the chevalier begged to all the gods who might be willing to listen to bring his lover back. No one ever answered. 

So now, breaking all of its rules, the spirit did answer; it materialized just outside the door, recreating the form of the dead lover from the chevalier’s memory – a man named Imshael. When it stepped inside, it closed the door and strode to the blonde man – Michel – and embraced him without hesitation. Oh, and how frozen Michel had become at the contact; his lips shivered and his eyes got wider, breath got caught in his throat and his heart leapt faster – and then finally he moved, arms circling around the waist of the spirit, drawing it closer. 

“I know you are a dream” he whispered into silky hair. “But I’m grateful for what I can get. A wonder your image is, demon.”

“Spirit” it breathed against his skin as the man called Imshael once did, and then it kissed Michel, his lips hot and his soul calmer despite his body being more excited than before. 

“Be it as you say” Michel held it stronger to his chest, feeling the soft leather robes under his palms, tracing his lover’s spine up and down, sliding fingers through brown hair, smelling like something unique to Imshael. “Be a spirit, demon. Just be here with me.”

He pleaded it to stay, then kissed all his love onto its lips, then made love to it; made love to the demon, the spirit, the lover he had chosen, to Imshael whom he had loved.

While Michel slept, the spirit lingered around in the room, sensing all the emotions the chevalier felt. He was so grateful, so sated, yet his sadness, his grief remained and the pain of his heart almost doubled since their meeting. The spirit was also sad, mourning another human’s soul that would never be content. It had caused just more suffering; it became the reason why the man’s dream was filled with dead and lost love. It tilted its head and decided that the best solution would be if it makes Michel forget. So it did.

In the morning, Michel’s bed was cold as he woke from a nightmare, his sheets and duvets tangled around his trembling body, eyes wide and lips forming a name he hadn’t uttered since a long time. He cried, clutching at his hair, cursing every being and every god of every cult - he was alone, so, so alone again and nothing could change it.


End file.
